Sit Here, Quiet As You Can
by prettyredfox
Summary: They hadn't suspected anything was wrong. After all they'd been through, it took his friends until it was nearly to late to realize someone had used magic on him and locked him up alone in his apartment in his apartment to die. mute/hurt/Derek and Pack feels. Well, what little pack is left after season 3. This is set before season 4, but after the season 3b series premiere.


**^^Hey, well, I'm not sure where the idea for this one came from but I just kinda rolled with it. Reviews are welcome, as always and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. I'll try to be fast on the updates as well.**

**Also, this takes place right after the season finale of 3A-just before 3B, so all of the people who died and the stuff with the Nogitsune haven't happened. I thought about updating it, but I liked it how it was and there was less….you know, sadness so I just didn't. Ignore if you can, and thank you for giving it a chance.**

**=3**

Truthfully, his feelings were kinda hurt by the fact that it'd taken so long for the pack to know something was wrong with him. Everything had gotten better since his return from vacationing with Cora, who even after three months couldn't bring herself to follow him back. She'd chosen in the end to meet back up with the pack that'd taken her in after the fire and Derek had done his best to give her freedom and only call her once a day. She was just so damned far away; he couldn't smell her or hear her heartbeat and it made his wolf whine and claw for his sister.

It'd been different since Scott had teamed up with him against Jennifer and Deucalion and helped rescue everyone's parents from being sacrificed to a sacred stump. Since he'd come back everyone had acted happy to see him. Hell, he had been happy to see them. He found himself smiling more, making jokes and laughing. You wouldn't believe the looks on everyone's faces when he laughed out loud for the first time. He wanted to bottle Stiles' completely shocked expression, because it'd been clear by his face that he hadn't expected Derek of all people to throw his head back and laugh with the rest of the pack.

It'd been so different since he'd come back. He was invited to hang out at houses and expected to have enough food for whenever they decided to suddenly appear at his. He didn't really mind, though he did make half-hearted complaints just for the hell of it. The way they ignored them told him they knew he liked it. He liked being a part of a family again-loyal to a pack and a good Alpha. And Scott was a good Alpha, no matter his age. Derek and Scott didn't argue as much anymore and their communication problems were an ongoing process.

Everyone surprisingly enjoyed Derek's dry humor and glares and they'd all become friends. Despite everything, they were getting along and learning to not only stand each other but like each other.

And then a Shaman they'd been keeping tabs on showed up at Derek's apartment and performed a ritual that involved blood and chanting and Derek eventually being knocked out cold next to a slain chicken. Really, he should've seen it coming; everything had been going far too well lately. When he woke up it was darker outside and his body felt achy and dry. The Shaman, an older man pale as milk with crow's feet and long, graying dreads, was stooped down next to him with his sacrificed chicken dangling by its neck from the belt holding up his pants. The man reached out to Derek's groggy body and patted him on the cheek and told him, "No hard feelings, but I have shit to do in this town and this should keep the rest of your pack busy for a time." And then he left with Derek's cellphone and laptop in his hands.

_Figured. _

Derek lay on the floor for a while longer, watching the lights drift down his walls as the day went on. The blood-drawn symbols were dried on the skin of his abdomen and crusted in the sparse hair on his chest. Finally, he stood up slowly, steading himself and going into the kitchen to find a pad of paper. He drew the symbols with the help of the bathroom mirror before stepping into the shower to rinse them off, his eyes out of focus as he swayed under the spray.

He got dressed and headed for the front door. The pack would need to know about the Shaman going fucking crazy. Breaking into peoples' houses and slaying chickens on their carpets was just rude-only to rebound off an invisible wall just before he could reach it. A line of Mountain Ash barred his front door, just visible from where it lay on the other side, blocking his obvious exit. He gave an irritated huff and began searching all of the windows in the apartment. The Mountain Ash circled his whole apartment. There were also what seemed to be little potted Wolfsbane flowers planted on the window ledges and that was just going to make his damned day.

He was just starting to panic when someone knocked on his front door.

His head whipped towards it and with a sniff, he identified that somebody as Stiles._ Thank God_ he grinned and went to open his mouth to tell him to come in, to break the circle and let him out so they could find the Shaman and-

No words came out of his mouth.

He frowned in confusion and his eyes strayed towards the blood stain in his carpet. _"No hard feelings, but I have shit to do in this town and this should keep the rest of your pack busy for a time." _He couldn't talk, was that what the sacrificial bird and symbols were for?

"Derek? Come on, man, the doors locked! You haven't been answering your phone, you coming over tonight or what?" The teen called as he banged harder on the door, sounding slightly miffed. "Dude, I know you want to! Come on out and quit brooding or whatever you do in your free time!"

He couldn't call for help, couldn't send an email or a fucking Twitter, or update his Facebook status**-'OMG, Shaman being a dick, totally locked in apartment and requiring assistance. Thx :P- D' **

"_Dammit! Help me, I can't, go get the others or something-"_ His mouth moved as he pulled at his hair in frustration. The more he tried to talk his throat burned like he was swallowing coals and coughing ash. It_ hurt_, Jesus- what the hell? Silently screaming, he flipped over an end table and sent a coffee mug and a book to the floor, mug shattering as porcelain shards went everywhere. Anything to make noise; and partly because he couldn't help it_. "I'm right here! The Shaman is dangerous-he has something bad planned-"_

"Jesus, fine! You don't have to throw shit around, I get it! I'll leave you be. Call us when you feel like coming out of hibernation, you caveman." Stiles scoffed and he sounded put out and not just a little pissed. He stood outside the door for another minute as if willing Derek to come out and say he'd changed his mind before he trudged off back down the hall.

He hadn't noticed the Mountain Ash? Good Lord, they needed to teach that kid to be more observant.

"_NO! Come back! Stiles, come back, don't leave, please just-"_Derek's breathing was coming out in short gasps. A panic attack-shit he hadn't had one of these in a while. And yes, unfortunately being a werewolf only solved your physical health issues, not the psychological ones.

He'd only had them twice before, he usually had pretty good control. The first one had been on the night his loved ones had all been trapped and burned alive in the house he'd grown up in. After Laura had helped him through it he'd hardly moved for days. Just stared at the wall of the hotel room in a comatose state and remembered what they'd lost. What had been ripped from them in less than a day. The second one he had was when he found the top half of Laura's mutilated corpse laying a pile of leaves. Her eyes had been open and her face screwed up in fear and pain. That panic attack had lasted a lot longer than normal ones probably should but the person who'd brought him out of his first one wasn't available. Derek had almost had another one the night his own claws had taken Boyd's life, but Stiles' steady presence and support, manifested by his hand on his shoulder had forced it back. There was no one here to witness this one. No one to bring him out and no dead eyes to judge. Just him and his broken mug.

His breathing sped up and he slid to the floor before his legs could jump the ball and give out on him. He thought about resisting it, but in the end, _why the hell not_? Besides the fact that they were scary as shit.

He wasn't sure how long he spent on the floor gasping for breath. He spent most of it trying to calm himself down by listening to other tenants in the building. When that hadn't worked he extended his hearing to the people passing on the street. By the time he was finally coming out of it he was sweating and shaky, the sun setting outside and his stomach was growling.

Which brought him to his next issue. All he currently had in his fridge was beer, some eggs, expired milk, and some condiments. If he was lucky, Isaac had left some cheese balls in the cabinets the last time they'd had movie night, but he doubted it. Those kids ate him out of house and home. He'd finished the last of his takeout for breakfast and had been meaning to do some shopping.

Well, maybe Scott and everyone would figure out something was wrong and get him the hell outta here or else he was going to start eating his couch. It wasn't a particularly new couch so he hoped it didn't come to that.

=3

He was so disappointed he could cry. Seven days locked the apartment in silence and he was so hungry the couch was looking suddenly very appealing. He kept the television on at all times to drown out the silence. (He'd stopped listening to the people around him when he found out what kind of sexual partners his sweet old landlady liked to partake in because he was so _not_ going there. Ever.) Because while the quiet had once been his shield, it seemed he'd grown used to his Pack's chatter. And by Pack's, he obviously meant Stiles. Since he'd returned it was like the kid had made it his mission to bug Derek as often as possible. Threatening only made everyone laugh at him now, which was damned sad.

This was the longest he'd been left alone since returning and _he was going insane_. How pathetic was that? The so called 'Big Bad Wolf' couldn't take a little isolation. He was starving. Hopefully he would go crazy before the hunger pains kicked in to overdrive and it would take the edge off. Or maybe someone would _finally _decide to check in on him and he wouldn't have to worry about eating his couch…or talking to it. Either or, he wasn't picky.

Sleeping was near impossible and he had to resort to short naps in front of the television. When he was younger, Laura had always teased him about being a worry wart. If he had a big test or a project due, he would stay up studying all night. Or when all the shit kept coming at them in the year before-crazy Peter, Jackson going Godzilla, the asshole Alpha Pack- he hadn't gotten much sleep. He would just get too wired and the _what-ifs_ would come pouring in and he wouldn't be able to shut down enough for more than two to three hours of sleep at a time. This situation, as much as he tried to keep calm about it, was supremely stressful.

Unfortunately, in his time of need, Derek had turned to reality television to help get him through the crisis. He'd never seen so much reality shows in his life. He was ashamed to say he was steadily making his way through the _Grey's Anatomy _series, though he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to watch it. They kept killing off everyone he started to get attached to-story of his life. There was also a surprising amount of ways for a person to die and he was grateful he wasn't human.

He was currently watching Food Network, because, obviously he loved to torture himself. The lady on the screen began to season a large ham and his stomach gave an angry rumble to accompany the sharp hunger cramps. _"Jesus." _He mouthed wordlessly and rubbed his hand across his middle absently. He was going to have to mentally prepare himself to eat the sofa. Or his shoes; he'd heard somewhere that shoes were edible if you boiled them and with the help of salt he was sure he could muddle through it. He remembered the farting war Isaac, Scott, and Stiles had on his couch a month before. Shoes it was.

He'd take an old pair of his sneakers to whatever hell that couch had been through.

'_Two more days._' He thought, hand still rubbing his abdomen and through his shirt he could feel the decreasing muscle mass. _'I'll give it two more days before I resort to eating footwear. The dog jokes will be horrid.'_

His Pack was paying for his next meal.

=3

Even with a pound of salt and pepper, shoe soup was still fucking disgusting. Seriously, one of the worst things he'd ever eaten and he'd eaten some gross things. His stomach felt complacent and full for a whole ten minutes before rebelling and he spent the next twenty throwing up sneaker as well as whatever the hell the green shit was. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten something green. And oh, now he felt worse than he had before. Everything was cramped up and he ached all over from vomiting. Maybe he ate too much? He would try it again later when he didn't feel like he'd just been poisoned by Wolfsbane.

He still couldn't talk, he kept trying. The only one he was talking to was Laura anyways. And, yes, thank you, he did know his sister was dead and not actually here with him. But it did make him feel better to imagine her there with him. He didn't feel quite as alone. Although, given another week and he'd probably be hallucinating his whole family.

=3

Thirteen days and he wasn't even trying anymore. Lord knows when someone would bother to come check on him and with the way it was going one of his Pack members would arrive only to find his emaciated body sitting in front of the television with a _Grey's Anatomy_ marathon playing. _**"Damn shame. Though mostly just pathetic, who'd want to die giving their last hoorah to Dr. McDreamy? What a looser. Was he actually an Alpha at some point? How did that happen? Oh, yeah, he finished off his already dying Uncle, now I remember."**_ Dammit, if he ever got out of here, he was going to have to get another apartment-again-he kept ruining his.

Derek imagined Laura rolling her eyes at him from her spot on the couch down by his feet. She'd had eye rolling mastered; used to roll her eyes at him so hard sometimes, he was surprised they hadn't rolled right out of her head. It had made him so mad when he was little. Made him feel like an idiot, always too young to get whatever was being discussed. When he got older it hadn't bothered him as much, thought there were still moments where all she would have to do was roll her eyes and he would feel like a child again.

He hadn't bathed this morning like he had been doing every morning, even after this whole mess had started. He felt gross and sweaty, cold and tired. He tried his best to blink the sleep from his eyes and pulled his blanket up to his chin. He wished he could wash, but at this point he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to do it by himself without assistance and asking Laura to help was going to get him nowhere. He would rather his band of misfit teens find him rotting away in front of the TV than naked and bloated in the tub. God forbid.

The human body could go two months without food and survive. Since Derek was a werewolf, he required more calories than the average person to function. But, thanks to his healing factors, he would probably survive longer no matter how much weight his body lost. This did not sound appealing to him in any way. He was steadily losing all his body mass and wasting away, it wasn't even worth it to go fetch himself water anymore. His mother had told him once as a child, giving up is the first step towards dying. At this point he believed it.

=3

His mouth was dry, his lips cracked and his hair greasy and falling across his forehead. Derek was pretty sure something interesting was happening on one of his Soaps but he was too tired to open his eyes. He had lost count on how many days he'd been trapped here.

"_Sing something for me Laura? And not one of those silly pop songs."_ He mouthed silently. _"If one Black Eyed Peas song comes out of your mouth, I'll be tempted to move just so I can beat you."_

"_I'd like to see you try_." She said back and he could hear the smirk in her voice, wished he had the strength to see it.

She started to hum lightly to him and he could almost fee her fingers combing through his dirty hair. She'd done this a lot for him after the fire. Every night for months after it Derek would wake up screaming with the smell of burning hair and flesh clinging to the inside of his nostrils and Laura would be next to him on the bed in flash. He was pretty sure she hardly ever slept herself and had already been awake before him. She sang to him and stroked his hair until he'd fall asleep, comforted by her scent filling the dark corners of his mind and chasing his demons away until the next night.

There was a faint banging sound and Laura's humming tampered off. Derek strained his face into a confused frown. The sound came again. Knocking, someone was knocking on his door.

Shit and he couldn't open his damned eyes. He couldn't shout for help.

He started breathing fast and heavy, his chest aching at the new movement_. 'Please.'_ He thought as he started wheezing_. 'Please, be a werewolf. Hear my breathing? Not normal, I'm not okay, this isn't me brooding.'_ Well, maybe he'd been brooding a little bit.

"Derek? Derek, you okay?" Scott's voice said though the door, sounding worried. His Alpha, fuck they had to make that official or some shit so next time the kid would _feel something_ was wrong. "We're gonna get you out, okay? Stiles will be here any minute to break the circle."

Relief flooded him so hard he felt faint with it, air leaving his lungs with a grateful sigh as he curled tighter into himself. They all owed him a buffet; he planned to eat his weight after he was sure he wouldn't just throw it all back up.

"Derek, can you answer me?" The teen was sounding slightly more panicked and Derek wished he could answer back. Bastard Shaman was going to get his ass kicked. He hadn't even done anything to the man and the asshole had used him as a diversion. The joke was one him though; the Pack hadn't even realized something was up until he was mostly dead.

This was his life and sometimes he'd really just rather give up and let Death take him; but not this way because as it turns out, starvation sucks ass. It's slow and given time to think, he really didn't particularly even want to die anymore. Which was kinda like a mid-life crisis for him, because while he never really wanted to die, he hadn't really wanted to live either. He supposed indifference towards life was some sign of suicidal tendencies or something but he hadn't felt that way.

"_Bye, little brother_." Laura whispered in his ear just as he felt the Mountain Ash circle around the apartment break.

Derek curled up tighter on the couch and slowly opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of his sister before she dissipated. He was instead greeted with the sight of a red-faced Stiles, his shirt wet and clinging to his lean body as he dropped to his knees beside him. "Hey, Derek." Stiles said quietly, giving him a shaky smile. Derek blinked at him. "Deaton will be here soon, Big Guy. Just stay awake for me, okay?" The teen ran a worried gaze over Derek's curled form, taking in the baggy clothes and the pale skin with growing dread. Derek Hale didn't do vulnerable, but this was about as close as it got and it was heartbreaking.

They'd come for him, he was safe. Derek felt his lips split as he gave a weak smile, opened his mouth to say, _"You owe me food,"_ when he remembered the spell. Stiles was looking at him like he had lost his mind (a definite possibility) and he flopped a hand at his mouth and shook his head. Which, if he thought about it, probably didn't help convey what the hell he was trying to say and made him look crazier.

He was seeing black spots creep across his vision. Moving his head had been a bad idea. He just wanted to sleep again; it was all he really did anymore and he had a feeling there would be no bad dreams to wake him up this time.

"Hey! Hey, no, eyes open, Derek! Seriously, no sleeping!" Stiles said, and he could just tell he was flailing his arms about as he yelled. Derek could hear his heartbeat kick up in either panic, or because the teen had forgotten to take his medicine. "Come on, Sourwolf! Open your damn eyes! Don't make me hit you, please! I don't think your body could take it-it looks like I'd break your neck if I slapped you in the face right now!"

Opening his eyes sounded like a terrible idea.

**=3**

**^^Thank you if you read this, and thank you even more if you review. I already have most of chapter two written out so it wont take long to update this.**


End file.
